


in a lovely constellation

by holdenscoffee (spacebarista), legitimate_salvage (ifinkufreaky)



Series: in a lovely constellation [2]
Category: The Expanse (TV), The Expanse Series - James S. A. Corey
Genre: F/M, Fictober, Fictober Challenge, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-20 13:16:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8250442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebarista/pseuds/holdenscoffee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifinkufreaky/pseuds/legitimate_salvage
Summary: "I am like a falling star who has finally found her place next to another in a lovely constellation, where we will sparkle in the heavens forever.” ― Amy TanA series of short stories about the relationship between Holden, Naomi, and Amos, and the highs and lows as they become a polyamorous unit.





	1. heart

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for peeking in!
> 
> legitimate_salvage and I have been planning a canon-divergent series for The Expanse in which Holden, Naomi, and Amos are involved in a polyamorous unit, starting after "Back to the Butcher". This fic will include many, if not most, of our Fictober Challenge prompt fills, originally posted on Tumblr. We split them up every week, but collaborate on the ideas and the writing itself.
> 
> This first prompt, "heart", is by legitimate_salvage, and takes place after her fic "Join Us", the first in our series.
> 
> Enjoy! and please review if you can!
> 
> ~holdenscoffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was like Naomi and Amos had one heart between them.

It was like Naomi and Amos had one heart between them. Because Naomi had opened hers to Holden, he suddenly had Amos' as well. Or maybe Amos’ heart was just in Naomi’s keeping, or he had no heart and just borrowed hers. Whichever it was, Holden spent the rest of the trip to Tycho wrapped up in their dual affections.

 

The morning after the two had invited Holden to “join them,” he had woken up with Naomi in his arms and Amos bringing them coffee. Amos had sat back and studied them for the rest of the morning; watching the way Naomi caressed Holden’s hip, how she met his every look with a wide smile. Then it was like a switch flipped and suddenly Amos was running his hand along Holden’s shoulder, laughing at his jokes and offering to massage out the crick in his neck.

 

Though their romantic interludes provided welcome distraction, the long flight to Tycho was still full of a low-grade stress. No one knew what awaited the survivors when they met with Fred Johnson. While Holden found he was almost addicted to the daily news feeds’ discussions of the _Canterbury_ and _Donnager_ disasters, Naomi had declared she couldn’t stand to sit around speculating. She and Amos spent most of their time on that flight digging around in the newly-christened _Rocinante’s_ innards, getting to know their new ship from the inside out.

 

When Holden went to the lower levels he could hear the pair cooing and marveling at the sophistication of the Martian tech. Naomi would wave him over in excitement and babble at him in a technical language Holden didn’t really understand; he just watched her eyes sparkle and let her enthusiasm wash over him, happy to be invited into their world. Amos cracked jokes and left greasy handprints on both of them. Naomi and Amos did half their communicating without any words at all, exchanging deep looks and then swiveling their eyes back to him. It was disorienting and unfamiliar, but Holden was getting used to it.

 

Naomi’s heart was guarded, but she showed Holden glimpses: slipping her hand silently into his when Alex wasn’t around to see, delivering complements that weren’t entirely laced with sarcasm. There were so many promises in the way her eyes would soften at the end of the day, inviting him back to her bed. Holden babbled out his hopes and dreams to her in the nights, after Amos had left to sleep alone. Holden felt that he was opening his heart completely. He was afraid he was overwhelming Naomi but he couldn’t stop, carried away on the rush of what they were becoming, who the three of them might be to each other.

 

Holden felt strange about sharing so much intimacy with Naomi while Amos was off in his own bunk, but the other man showed not a trace of jealousy. Or interest. “Amos isn’t on that level,” Naomi had said when Holden confessed his guilt about excluding him. “Feelings are difficult for him, and he’s usually happy to avoid this kind of thing entirely.” Holden had wondered how she could stand to be in a relationship with someone like that, to which she replied, “oh, he has his ways of showing you he cares.”

 

Amos’ feelings didn’t come through in his face, or his words, but in his actions. He interrupted Holden’s newsfeed binges during his turn at watch on the command deck, silently offering a coffee and a vacuum-sealed Martian snack. Holden started venting all of his fears about war between Mars and the Belt, and what it might mean that his face was being used in fringe-OPA broadcasts encouraging terrorist activities. Amos took it all in, nodding. “Is there anything you can do about it right now?” he asked simply. When Holden shook his head in defeat, Amos smirked and started giving him something else to think about.

 

Holden didn’t think he had done anything in particular to win Amos over. He just went where Naomi did, and apparently was ready to love whatever she loved. Or perhaps _who_ ever. Holden wondered how he had gotten so fortunate, to be able to wrap the two of them around his heart. But when he looked at Naomi, Holden thought he understood Amos perfectly. He wanted to do whatever would make her happy too. And maybe one day he’d be able to share that heart, as well.

 


	2. opal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was the first time she had allowed him to get her alone since they reached Tycho. After Holden had volunteered for Fred Johnson’s mission, the truth had come out about the distress call, and Amos had stormed out on them, Naomi had been avoiding everyone.

The bar was called The Opal, all cool glimmering lights and polished surfaces. Naomi and Holden sat at a small table in the back where the music wasn’t too loud. This was the first time she had allowed him to get her alone since they reached Tycho. After Holden had volunteered for Fred Johnson’s mission, the truth had come out about the distress call, and Amos had stormed out on them, Naomi had been avoiding everyone.

“Look, Holden…” Naomi began, then trailed off when he reached out and took her hand in his, turned his warm brown eyes up to her attentively. It was hard to find the right words, and he was making it harder. Holden had been pressing his enthusiasm against her during all the awkward time on Tycho. Casual, eager-yet-respectful touches, intimate smiles. Little unspoken invitations to continue what the three of them had been indulging in on the flight here, that beautiful little thing they had started building that was mostly sex but held dizzying possibilities for more. Holden had to know something was wrong between her and Amos, but he didn’t seem to understand what that meant, couldn’t see the way the cards had landed on the table now.

“We had a lot of fun, on the way over here. I think we all really needed it, after what we went through,” Naomi continued. Holden’s smile weakened; perhaps he was realizing what she had to say to him next. She had miscalculated in that moment in the galley, and now she could see no other choice. She had thought if she told Amos that she knew all along, about Holden logging the distress call, that she could calm his anger before it really got going. She had panicked at the thought of him taking a swing at their new lover right there and then, destroying the relationship that had just been starting to grow. So she took Amos’ ire upon herself. She had thought it would just be absorbed into what had always felt like bottomless trust and respect for her judgment. But instead, it had cracked the two of them apart.

“We have to stop,” Naomi said, avoiding Holden's eyes. The words felt too final, so she started adding more. “I know it was starting to feel like something really good, I was feeling it too, but I have to end it now. I’m sorry, I know it was kind of shitty to agree to come here and drink with you and then pull the rug out like this…”

“Is this about Amos?” Holden interrupted. He wasn’t letting go of her hand.

“Yeah,” she sighed. What Naomi hadn’t expected was that telling Amos she had kept Holden’s secret had created a wall that wasn’t really there. It had made it look like she and Holden were sharing some special connection behind his back, and actively excluding him. Just about one of the most toxic things you could do when you opened your relationship up to a third. And that was on top of Amos realizing there were things about him that frightened her so much that she would lie to him, or at least hold things back. Amos wasn’t the kind of guy to say “I’m breaking up with you,” but that’s basically where this had landed.

“Amos… isn’t over it yet,” Naomi said, slipping her hand from Holden’s and picking up her drink instead. Amos had been getting up and leaving any room Naomi entered, brow creased or face heartbreakingly blank. “He’s hurting, and he doesn’t deal with that well. It’s not over between us, I’m not accepting that, but he needs time to process in his own way.” Which, from what she had seen in the past, consisted mostly of drinking, picking bar fights, disappearing into brothels, and one day coming back and acting like nothing had ever happened. Naomi knew she had the patience to wait that out.

“There’s nothing I can do to help him,” she continued, “But I don’t want to do anything to make it worse. So I don’t want him to see us together, make him think we really are excluding him or that I’m moving on. And I’m _not_ going sneak around behind his back with you.”

“I wouldn’t want that either,” Holden said. “But Naomi…” he paused and looked down at his hands, rolling one thumbnail over the other as he thought. She realized she had barely looked at him since she began this speech. Now she forced herself to focus on his face, the way his soft, kissable lips were twisting up in pain. He went on. “I don’t think I can just… _stop._ Put everything I’m feeling on hold.”

Damn. This was about to get ugly. Naomi had been noticing, without trying to notice, the way Holden had been talking himself into deeper and deeper feelings over the past few weeks. It was in the way he stroked her softly in the middle of the night while he bared his soul to her, in the plans he kept trying to make for ‘when this is all over….’ She shouldn’t have let him go on like that. She shouldn’t be letting him go on now.

“I haven’t been sure how to say it,” Holden barrelled on, “because I was still working through whatever I’m feeling for Amos. If that even matters anymore. But I _know_ how I feel about you. And I can’t just leave without saying something.”

Naomi knew what was coming. She suddenly regretted even starting this conversation. She could have let Holden take off in the _Rocinante_ without them, on his foolhardy mission for Fred, and said nothing. Let him hold onto his dreams for the three of them, while she let Amos have the time it would take to move through whatever was going on in his head. But that felt wrong. If they ever were to have a chance together in the future, they had to make a commitment to honesty. That much was obvious, already.

“Naomi, I’m falling in love with you.” Holden leaned forward, kept talking, even though she started shaking her head. “I have been. Since before we started… all this. And I can’t just _stop_ it or _ignore_ it.” Then he fell silent, his brown eyes blazing so bright she wasn’t sure if they would warm her or burn her.

It felt wrong. It was all too much. “It’s not real,” she said, giving him a sad smile and then looking away from him again. “I’ve watched you, Jim Holden. You do this. Every time you sleep with a woman, you do this.” She snuck a glance back at his face; he looked confused, and defensive. But it was the truth. “You have to convince yourself that you’re in love. I don’t know why, but I’ve seen you do it before, and now I’m telling you: don’t do it this time. It’s never real, and I don’t want you to do it to me.” She broke off, choking a little on the words.

The truth was she had actually longed for him to play this game with her. She had been enjoying it thoroughly. It was even possible it could have come true, they might have had real love, in time. Still could, if only he could be patient, like she had to be patient. Holden wasn’t the only person having big feelings right now. And unlike Amos, he had the capacity to handle them with grace. Naomi needed Holden to do that. She sure as shit wasn’t about to hold both their hands. If Holden could just realize that he was jumping the gun here, pull it back some, then he could be patient and wait for her and Amos to be ready for him again. He had to see that.

“I don't…” Holden started, biting his lip. “Naomi, I'm not…” he shook his head. “I don’t know why you’re saying this. Okay, yes, I’ve been with a lot of women since you’ve known me,” he paused, sucked in a breath, and then caught her eyes with a fervent look. “But I don't have to convince myself of anything. _This_ is real. What I feel with you, it's different than anything I've felt before. Better than. _More_ than.”

Naomi felt a pressure building in her chest as she listened to his confession, heart leaping at his passion. She didn’t want to lose this, but she couldn’t embrace it, either. Even if she hadn’t been worried about Amos, she couldn’t handle the intensity in Holden’s eyes. She wasn’t ready to be loved like this. Easier to pretend it wasn’t happening.

She shook her head sadly, broke eye contact looking down at his clasped hands. “We have to stop,” she repeated. She set her drink on the table, stood up to leave. She couldn’t look at his face. “I’m sorry, but it’s better for everyone this way.” She turned to go; felt Holden’s fingers try to clasp around her wrist. Naomi twisted her forearm reflexively to break his grip, withdrew her arm into her chest and stepped away without looking back at him. It was better this way.

Naomi found herself wondering what she looked like to Holden in this moment, walking out the front doors of the Opal. She thought he’d call her as beautiful and cold as that stone.

 


	3. cruel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cruelty did not come easily to James Holden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt, "cruel", was written by holdenscoffee, and takes place during/after "Windmills" and "Salvage". 
> 
> Apologies for the awkwardness of the tense, I've not written past-tense in a long time but it felt better for this fill.
> 
> It also references events that will be coming up in future prompts.
> 
> Enjoy! And please review if you can. Thanks!

_“Naomi was right to be afraid of you.”_

 

Holden didn’t regret the words immediately. Adrenaline was too high, stakes were too high, his fear and fury were running hot in his veins. He’d almost _killed_ Amos, for Christ’s sake. Though a small part of him reminds himself that he was unlikely to pull the trigger. But when the Martians left, Kenzo was locked away, and everyone retreated to be on their own, the guilt crept up on him.

 

Holden had never been an unkind person. Had he said things in the heat of the moment? Sure. But he never meant ill to anyone who didn’t deserve it. Amos hadn’t killed any Martians. Yet. Yeah, the intent terrified him. Still, Amos hadn’t _done_ anything. And while he still had a violent streak in him—or at least an easy willingness to resort to violence—the actual need hadn’t arisen yet.

 

But once the Roci and her crew were safely on their way to Fred Johnson’s mysterious coordinates, the reality of what he’d said hit him with full force.

 

Cruelty did not come easily to James Holden. Yet cruel is what he had been.

 

He’d had no place commenting on Amos and Naomi’s argument on Tycho about Holden’s logging the _Scopuli’s_ distress signal. He didn’t know them that well, for someone who had been sleeping with them. He didn’t know how they’d met or how they’d gotten so close he’d mistaken them for a couple, then learned they _were_. He didn’t know her motivation behind hiding what he’d done from Amos and Alex. They both had their secrets. From him and from each other. He _did_ know that it was the first time he’d seen Amos express any emotion other than cold, calculated anger. He _did_ know that Amos believed that Naomi had been afraid of him, or what he would have done. He _did_ know that Naomi protecting him had squeezed whatever weakness Amos had.

 

And Holden had cruelly squeezed further.

 

He threw Amos’ words in his face, snarled the reminder in his own anger. His own fear. If Amos _had_ known what he’d done, would he have carried through on the thinly veiled threat on the _Knight_? Would he have slaughtered Holden as readily and emotionlessly as he would Mickey marines just doing their job?

 

Because that’s the thing. Amos wasn’t cruel, not really. At least not in the same way. He could kill, he could fight, he could threaten… but he didn’t do it to cause pain the same way any other violent person might. He did it to move the immovable. To finish jobs. To overcome obstacles. He used violence as a means to an end. Emotions had little to do with it.

 

Holden had spat Amos’s own words, his own realizations, at him to hurt him. To shock him into stopping. To try and change his behavior by reminding him that he’d upset Naomi. It hadn’t been the same pragmatic force that drove the other Earther. It was willfully done to cause Amos pain.

 

It was cruel.

 

As the guilt over his actions gnawed at his chest, Holden struggled to find a way to close the new distance between them. And the old distance, the one from before the _Cant_ went down. Before he’d been invited to share Naomi and Amos’ bed. A distance, but one far more treacherous and precarious. Hell… Naomi had distanced herself from him too.

 

When she’d ended things, when she’d told him off on Tycho, when she’d near ignored him when not directly speaking to one another, the nastier part of him had called her cruel. He’d felt himself falling for her. Falling hard and fast. And Naomi had shut him down. Shut him down again when her bringing Alex and Amos back to the _Roci_ didn’t change anything. Openly worked on fixing things with Amos but seeming to forget to spare Holden a second glance.

 

The better, kinder, more understanding part of himself—the one that fled at the sight of Amos loading a gun to kill Martian marines—reminded himself that he had been the one they’d invited. That it had been them before him. It wasn’t cruelty. It made sense. He’d just have to be patient. Work on trying to close the chasm between himself and Amos.

 

So he gave Amos another chance. Put Kenzo in his charge. Trusted him with the canary for their coal mine. He’d threatened the other man, sure. But he’d trusted him nonetheless. After the escape from the nightmarish stealth ship, he’d been relieved to see both Kenzo and Amos in one piece. Once the _Anubis_ had been torpedoed into slag—the only thing he, Naomi, and Amos had agreed on in several days—and Kenzo had been locked away into his makeshift cell again, Holden knew it was time to see where Amos’s head was at. If anything between them could be mended.

 

He'd been wandering by the galley when he saw them. They weren’t facing him as they stood at the table, speaking in low voices, hands resting on the same chair. Amos sounded vaguely concerned. Naomi sounded tired. They paused, Holden gathered his courage. Amos lifted his hand to rest careful fingers on Naomi’s cheek. And he kissed her. A weight landed on Holden’s chest. Naomi didn’t pull away—not that he expected her to, or that he blamed her—and in fact leaned closer. It looked right. It felt right. The weight felt heavier. He turned on his heel and left before either of them could notice him. If they even could. They were always a world unto themselves. It just took him a while to see it.

 

It had been cruel, Holden thought as he’d slid to the floor of his cabin as soon as the door closed. Cruel of them to invite him into their beautiful, intimate world and kick him out just as he found himself falling deep for one of them. Maybe both of them. He remembered what he’d growled at Amos that day as the Martian Navy bore down on them. Remembered his cruel words and the righteous justification he’d felt as he said them. Did Naomi know? Could she have been pushed further out of his orbit by his cruelty? He laughed, a sad, bitter sound.

 

One cruel act for another. He’d more than earned _their_ cruelty.


	4. planetary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amos and Holden struggle with being planetary while Naomi lies just out of reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an idea I've kind of had for a while, and really wanted to play with: Amos taking care of Holden's emotional needs, out of his comfort zone. Just the idea of them having to support each other in the absence of Naomi. It was one of my favorite things about Cibola Burn, even outside of this silly OT3. I really enjoyed writing this one!
> 
> MINOR spoilers for Cibola Burn. Like super minor. 
> 
> Please enjoy and review if you can!
> 
> ~holdenscoffee

All Amos can think about as he watches Holden pace across their room is how badly he’d like to knock him out. There are two reasons for his simple desire. One: Holden hadn’t let him kill Murtry for what he’d done. And two: it’s just fucking annoying. But he’d promised Naomi he’d look out for and take care of the other man when she’d left them here in this backwater colony on Ilus. Kicking the shit out of him didn’t fit that bill in the slightest.

 

So he just watches the captain pace. Taps his fingers on his knee and counts in his head. How long until Holden finally cracks and says something already? Until he tries to demand something from Amos that he just can't give? He'd already been hinting at it. Grasping after Amos when he pulled away from long kisses, growing too quiet when Amos left Holden's bed for his own after they fucked. The flashes of pain on his face when Amos slipped out of and away from Holden's more gentle touches. Emotion and affection aren't Amos’s strong suit, and Holden seems to be forgetting it.

 

Up until a few days ago, Holden hadn't been looking for much from him. Amos had known Holden had been reining himself in for his benefit. Doing his best to be respectful of their differences. Holden had Naomi for the love and affection. He called her nearly every night, perched by the window and gazing up at the dark sky and searching for the _Roci_. They would talk—trading words more innocent than Amos would have chosen—late into the night. Holden misses her. She hadn't wanted to join them on Ilus. Amos couldn’t blame her, knowing what he does now.

 

But she could have been safe with _them_ instead of locked up on the _Edward Israel_ with Murtry’s goons.

 

Amos had managed to calm himself down after Holden pulled him off Murtry, after they’d learned what had happened to her. He let his rage simmer just beneath the surface, because Holden needed him. Naomi needed him. Going after Murtry could have gotten him killed. And he can’t well help negotiate for Naomi’s release if he’s dead. But now, Holden is unraveling before him, devolving from the cool, calm, collected mediator Chrissy Avasarala wanted him to be into a mess of nerves and anxiety. It would be unsettling if Amos hadn't seen it before. He just has no real idea of how to soothe the other man. He just did what he could to keep Holden from pushing his limits.

 

Naomi would know what to do. She always does. She can read both him and Holden like open books, figure out what they need before even _they_ know. They both rely on her for that, in very different ways. For Amos, it included calming his anger, easing his… frustration. Any kind of frustration. Or stopping him from doing something she wouldn’t like—something she and Holden consider bad. For Holden… Amos isn't sure what to call it other than “love”, but it looks more like comfort. Jim Holden is no where near as fearless as people paint him to be, but Naomi’s support helps him keep the facade.

 

She can’t do that from a cell on the _Israel_. Hell, Murtry wouldn't even let Holden speak to Naomi. That argument is what spawned Holden’s current breakdown. It’s starting to drive Amos a little mad. He tries to keep his irritation in check. He may complain about Holden making their relationship difficult, but Amos certainly isn't helping him any.

 

Holden makes a choked sound and moves to stare out the window, up at the foreign stars. Amos combs through his memories of the more intimate moments he's witnessed between Naomi and Holden for some sort of solution. Something that will get the man to calm down, hold still for longer than a moment. Most of what he recalls pushes his limits: lying in bed together holding each other, whispered words with too many implications, long, slow kisses. Naomi and Holden are more physically intimate and affectionate than anyone else he's been with. He scratches his jaw, eyes falling on the captain again. Holden rakes a hand through his hair, making the mostly dark strands stick up in every direction. He never notices how fuckable it makes him look. Something clicks in Amos’s head.

 

He's seen Naomi run her fingers through Holden’s thick hair countless times, watched the other Earther melt beneath her touch. Amos had of course done the same himself, but for far less innocent reasons. Still, it's something he could try. Naomi wouldn’t forgive him if she knew he’d let Holden suffer. As irritating as Holden can be when he gets like this, Amos doesn’t like seeing it. Something about seeing the captain—the constant on the _Roci_ , the man with the plan and the actions to back it up, unable to do anything and refusing to let _Amos_ do anything—barely holding himself together, feels wrong. Makes his chest feel tight.

 

“Cap,” he calls across the room. The captain doesn’t answer. Amos watches him deflate with a heavy sigh, running a hand down his jaw. Amos lets out a sigh of his own, harsh in comparison to Holden’s defeated one. “Holden!”

 

The other man whirls, eyes wide. It’s a relief to see Holden snapped out of an inner tirade that likely included him blaming himself for everything that’s happened so far. One of the only things Holden hasn’t unlearned since the _Cant_ went down and this years-long adventure began. In the end, none of them have control. Amos knows that better than most.

 

Holden squints at him, like he had forgotten Amos was even there. “Sorry,” he mutters, rubbing at his eyes. “What is it?”

 

He pats the bed beside him. “Sit.”

 

Holden squints again. Still, he takes a couple steps closer. “Why?”

 

“Because you’re driving me fucking crazy with the pacing.”

 

“Sorry,” Holden sighs. Another apology. Another quirk that drives Amos fucking crazy. What does he have to be sorry for? Holden takes the final few steps to cross the room and sits heavily next to Amos. He rubs at his eyes again, whether to soothe the ache from weariness or from possible tears, Amos isn't sure. Both are fair guesses. “I've been trying to come up with some sort of plan or negotiation to get Naomi out.”

 

“No luck?”

 

Holden grins. “Nothing that won’t get us or Alex killed in the process.”

 

Amos grunts. “So, nothing Naomi would approve of.”

 

“Not a single thing, no.”

 

“Figures.” The men fall quiet again. They sit shoulder to shoulder, listening to the ambient sounds of their shelter and the colony outside. If Amos closes his eyes, he can almost imagine he's on Earth. It doesn't make him feel any kind of way. It's just strange. He wonders what Holden thinks of it. If it makes him homesick to be on a planet that isn't his, surrounded by people that aren't his family. Holden's nostalgic like that sometimes. And he still argues with Naomi about visiting Earth. Wanting to go home. The tightness returns to Amos’ chest. Not from thoughts of Earth.

 

Amos turns his gaze back on Holden. His eyes are closed, chin tilted up to show off the long length of his neck. A flash of lust shoots through Amos at the thought of kissing, maybe biting the exposed, delicate skin. But that’s not what Holden wants. Later, hopefully.

 

“Hey,” Amos says instead, waiting for Holden to glance over before patting his thigh. Holden’s brow furrows and Amos stops him before he can ask. “I don’t want you to suck my dick, Holden. Just lay your head here, all right?”

 

The captain’s uncertainty is plain, yet he does as Amos asks. He shifts his body over to lean down, rests his head on Amos’s leg. Amos has let Naomi do this before, briefly, back before Holden when she’d been having some kind of a time and just wanted to be near him. But not Holden. Naomi had always taken care of that for him, spared Amos of Holden’s needs and affections. It never crossed Amos’ mind that this could happen to them; that he’d be left with Holden with Naomi so far out of reach.

 

It takes a moment to adjust to the weight of Holden’s head, the press of his shoulder against his leg. It doesn’t feel wrong. The overwhelming urge to shove Holden off of him never comes. Well… that’s something. He watches Holden wait, watches him rest a hand on Amos’s knee, just in front of his nose. At least Amos isn’t the only one figuring out how this should feel. He raises his own hand, lets it hover for a moment over Holden. The angle is different from what he’s used to, the reasoning as well. But he can’t stop now. So he takes a breath and slips his hand into Holden’s soft, thick hair.

 

Holden sucks in a breath. Amos carefully threads his fingers through Holden’s curls, lets his blunt nails scratch at his scalp. Slowly, the tension Holden’s been carrying in him melts away, and with a sigh, he relaxes against Amos’ leg and into the mattress. Amos grins. Just the trick. He slides his fingers back slowly , relishing Holden’s slight trembling. When he reaches the back of Holden’s head, Amos gives his hair a gentle tug. Holden hums.

 

“This okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Holden breathes, lightly squeezing Amos’s knee. “It’s good.”

 

“You like it?”

 

“A _lot_.”

 

Amos snorts and gets back to work. He starts at Holden’s hairline and pulls his hand back to his crown before starting over again. He tries not to stay on the same track. Amos combs through as much of Holden's hair as he can, nails scratching lightly all the way. Soon, the tightness in his chest fades away. But it’s quickly replaced with something else. The longer he pets Holden, toys with his hair, the warmer his chest becomes. He feels his body loosen and relax on its own. While surfing different feeds to alleviate his boredom on long flights, Amos had seen old articles about how petting dogs and cats and other animals could help with stress. He chuckles to himself. They didn’t take petting Holden into account.

 

It goes on like that for far longer than Amos ever imagined he could stand. Holden’s thumb brushes over the top of Amos’s thigh, the only sign that he’s still awake. Amos had expected him to fall asleep, as he often did when Naomi toyed with his hair for an extended period of time. He’s glad Holden’s awake. It’ll be easier to get him to his own bed when Amos has had enough or if Holden agrees to fuck after. That, and Amos finds he doesn’t mind Holden’s light touch somewhere other than under his jumpsuit.

 

Amos pauses again. “You good now?”

 

Holden breathes a few times before answering. “Better,” he mumbles, nuzzling into Amos’ thigh. “Can’t say I expected this.”

 

“Same. But it was the only thing I could think of that might calm you down. Works well enough for Naomi.”

 

“Yeah…” Holden trails off, thumb still moving over Amos’ thigh. They sit in quiet again for just a moment before Holden sits up, shifts to face Amos. “Hey,” he starts, gazing down at his hand where it lies on Amos’s knee. “I uh… I should…” Amos waits for him to find the words he’s looking for. He’s too relaxed to rush the other man, or even tease him. Holden clears his throat, eyes moving up to meet Amos’ even gaze. “I’m sorry, Amos.”

 

Amos grunts, brows ever so slightly drawing together. “For what? Trapping me on the bed when I could have been drinking?”

 

Holden snorts and gives him a pointed look. “That too, I guess.” He rubs at his jaw. Amos notes he needs a shave. “No, more for… I guess for pushing you to do things you can’t do.”

 

“For trying to get touchy feely with me?”

 

Holden’s face goes pink. “Yeah. I guess. I just…” He stops again with a heavy sigh, rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

 

Amos can fill in the blanks. “You miss Naomi.” Holden’s head snaps back up. Amos grins at him. “I get it, Jim. I miss her too.”

 

Holden blinks at him, thinks over his words. It’s not often they have these kinds of talks. Talking about their emotions. Again, they fall to Naomi. Even when Amos _is_ inclined to discuss something, he goes to Naomi before Holden nine times out of ten. But like the few times previously, this moment isn’t what Amos would call unwelcome. It’s strange, but not enough for Amos to stop it. And if it helps Holden, who has likely missed Naomi from the moment the _Roci_ took off without them, then more incentive to continue. Finally, Holden grins himself, nods.

 

“Yeah… yeah, I know. It’s hard without her. Harder when we can’t even talk to her.”

 

“But we’ll get her back.”

 

“ _Without_ killing Murtry,” Holden chides, but amusement lurks in his voice.

 

“Maybe,” Amos replies with very slight humor.

 

Holden sighs, shakes his head, grin still in place. He hits Amos’ knee. “Well… whatever happens…” Amos can sense the speech coming, one of those “I’m feeling things” tirades that Holden can get into when he’s overly sappy. Which is often. True to form, Holden continues. “I appreciate you doing this for me, Amos. I know it’s not the easiest thing for you, and I—”

 

Having had enough of Holden’s little speech, Amos wraps his hand around the back of Holden’s neck and pulls him in to crash their lips together. Holden makes a little surprised sound into Amos’ mouth, but he soon melts into the kiss, his grip on Amos’ leg tightening. They break apart before the kiss can get really heavy, and Amos takes a moment to observe Holden. He’s so… _pretty_ , with his flushed face and parted lips, staring back at Amos with lidded eyes. Amos knows what _he_ would do to Holden next, with the emotional speech behind them and the sensual sight before him. But what Naomi would do… He tilts Holden’s head down, presses his lips to his warm forehead.

 

“Don’t get used to this,” Amos growls against Holden’s skin, drawing a laugh from the other man.

 

“I’ll do my best,” Holden rumbles. And Amos knows he means it. “Hey… Amos?”

 

“Yeah, Cap?”

 

“Would you mind… uh… doing _that_ for just a while longer?” The “please” is left unsaid, instead painted plain on his face when Amos pulls back to look at him.

 

“Okay.” Amos’s hand moves to Holden’s shoulder, pulling him down so his head rested on Amos’ shoulder. “Don’t see why not.”

 

Holden hums, settles in. “Thanks, Amos.”

 

Amos resumes running his fingers through Holden’s hair, vaguely enjoying the feel of the man’s weight against his side. They’d get Naomi back, get off this backwater planet and onto the _Roci_ again. But until then, they could stay planetary together, look out for each other. It’s what Naomi would want.

 

It’s what Amos wants, too.

 


	5. domestic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amos steps into the galley holding two things: a toolbox and a two-month-old infant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in some mythical happy future when the _Roci_ family are done with their adventures and ready to settle down.
> 
>  
> 
> Written by legitimate_salvage.

 

Amos steps into the galley holding two things: a toolbox and a two-month-old infant. He props the drooling baby carefully over his shoulder, sets the tools down and starts loading beans into the coffee machine. First thing’s first. He tries to ignore the creeping sensation that she might have spit up on his shoulder. He’s not going back to his bunk to change; he took little Sam off the crew deck to give Naomi and Holden a chance to sleep and he’s not going to disturb their peace again.

His goal for the morning had been to take the galley’s dishwasher apart and get it working again before they ran out of clean forks. But as he climbed the ladder up from the machine shop, he had heard a plaintive cry from the direction of the bunks and made an adjustment to his plan. It was early, and Amos had already been hearing the baby wailing through the wall all night. It had probably been even rougher for Holden and Naomi, who slept with the baby between them, so he stuck his head in what was now the family suite on their little warship.

Naomi had looked up with sleepy, desperate eyes, nursing Sam on her side. “I’ll take her when she’s done,” Amos had whispered, and the relief in the way Naomi relaxed and pressed her eyelids back together showed him he was making the right call. Holden had cracked one eye open when Amos carefully lifted the tiny body from the bed, then he emitted an odd groan that Amos assumed was a form of thanks and rolled over.

“Time to make the coffee, little bean,” Amos says to the infant in his arms. Holden has told him to talk to the baby as much as he can; it’s good for her brain development. Amos still isn’t used to it, but he tries to narrate what he’s doing as he props her up against his neck with one hand. “First we take the coffee beans out of the refrigerator, and pour them into the machine. Your daddy thinks the coffee tastes better if we keep the beans cold until the last possible second.”

Amos always calls Holden her daddy; he gets an odd feeling in his stomach when the others point out that he’s Sam’s daddy too. Amos plans to make sure she mostly attaches herself to Holden in that regard. That guy was born to be a father. Amos still has no fucking clue how a dad was supposed to act. Other than however Holden was acting. And the exact opposite of the men he had grown up around.

Amos presses the button to turn the coffeemaker on, cranes his neck to sneak a peek at little Sam’s face to see if she’s getting sleepy yet. Wide brown eyes stare back at him solemnly. “Alright, let’s see what’s going on inside that dishwasher,” he says, softer than he usually speaks. Naomi has told him babies like those high, sing-song voices she and Holden use when talking to their daughter; says that they’re easier to hear, but Amos can’t quite bring himself to raise his pitch more than a note or two.

He rummages through the toolbox one-handed, starts bouncing as he does when Sam begins making little fussing sounds. He finds the drill he’s looking for and steps over to the dishwasher’s access panel while the baby rubs her face restlessly into his shoulder. He fits the bit to the first bolt and pulls the trigger. Sam goes still and silent as soon as the whirring noise begins. Amos grunts in satisfaction; he had discovered that the drill sound soothed Sam last week and he’s glad to find the trick still works.

Sam stays relaxed and calm in his grip as Amos removes the bolts securing the access panel one by one. When there are only two left he realizes he needs to use both his hands to stop the panel from clattering down onto the deck. He takes a few steps away and carefully places the baby on her back in the middle of the floor, well clear of his workspace.

Her little face starts scrunching up immediately, limbs flailing in the empty air. Amos just needs a few seconds to remove the access panel, then he’ll pick her up again. He steps back and retrieves his drill, but she has started emitting full-throated wails that do not stop even when he pulls the trigger to make the sound she likes again.

Amos looks down at the tiny baby in her pink onesie, squirming helplessly on the cold metal deck. A weird tightness grabs him in the stomach. It just looks wrong to leave her like that, even if it was only going to be for a moment. And she clearly hates it. Suddenly she is back in Amos’ arms, and he’s patting her back and making that shushing sound between his teeth that Naomi always uses to calm her. He didn’t even have to think about it, like he does when comforting most people, struggling to remember the right way to act.

After a few minutes Sam stops fussing, relaxes in his arms. He still wants to get that panel off, though. Amos looks around for a better place to set her down while he fixes himself a cup of coffee. Not a lot of comfortable nooks on a warship. They had a swing on a magnetic tripod somewhere for her, but Amos thinks they left it up on the command deck yesterday. He can’t carry that and the baby down the narrow ladder at the same time. The tables and chairs in the galley were all too small and flat to set Sam down on; he’d been told babies sometimes unexpectedly started rolling.

The walls on the _Roci_ are all padded in case of unexpected maneuvers. Amos figures the safest plan is to prop the baby up on the floor against the wall; that way she could watch him work and maybe stay calm because she could see him. He grabs all the clean towels from under the counter and lays one out in his chosen spot. Sam watches with interest from his shoulder; maybe she likes the bright red color of the fabric. Amos sets her down on her butt in the center of the towel; she bends down to her left to inspect the fabric more closely and promptly falls on her face.

Amos rights her quickly, cursing once under his breath, then keeps one hand on her as he rolls up the remaining towels to prop her up on either side. Finally she’s balanced, tiny mouth pouting only a little with her chin propped against her chest. Amos stands up and backs away slowly, then turns and goes for the drill once he’s satisfied she’s not going to immediately burst into tears.

He makes quick work of the final bolts and sets the panel to the side. Now he can get a good look at what made the machine throw an error code last night. All the display had told him was that there was some problem along the water line. He hears the staccato whimpers of baby Sam fussing again and turns around. The towels have slid out from under her somehow, and she’s stuck awkwardly on her side with her face on the cold metal of the deck. Amos thinks the maneuver was actually pretty impressive for someone with almost no voluntary motor control. He picks her back up and carries her over to the open panel.

“Okay little bean, what doesn’t look right in here?” Amos asked, holding her up to inspect the twisting tubes and bundles of brightly-colored wire. Her eyes focus very seriously, roaming over the machine’s innards. Amos is caught up in watching her look for a moment, before he remembers she’s not going to answer and gets back to work.

The problem is easy to spot, but he’s going to need two hands again. He casts his eyes around the room for another baby plan, finally notices the long piece of lavender fabric Naomi uses to wrap Sam up and carry her on her chest. There were so many fancy baby holders and carriers they could have ordered, but Naomi had grown up almost as poor as Amos and was nostalgic for a few of the traditions of where she had come from. She had shown him how to twist and knot the simple length of fabric to bind the baby to his body, snug and comfortable. That would keep little Sam happy this morning, surely.

Amos sets the baby down in the nest of towels on the floor just long enough to find the center of the wrap and wind it around his torso like Naomi showed him. The layers of fabric make a pouch over his sternum for him to lower Sam into, her tiny legs curled up around his ribs. She burrows her face into Amos’ chest. She seems to like it.

It’s a little awkward to work around the warm bundle on his chest, but the little bean barely weighs five kilograms and Amos finds he’s enjoying her tiny face staring up at him right under his chin. He has to replace a length of tubing that got caught and twisted somehow; probably during one of the many times the Roci took a direct hit or made some intense maneuvers in their years of saving the solar system. No risky combat missions like those were on their horizon now, not with an infant on board. It was going to be years of low-paying shipping and transport jobs, nothing exciting at all.

Amos steps lightly down the ladder back to the machine shop to get a length of new tubing. By the time he gets back to the galley Sam has fallen asleep with her cheek over his heart. The gentle rhythms of his body at work keep her sedated as Amos methodically replaces the tubing, then cleans and greases all the moving parts inside the dishwasher’s motor. He restrains his habitual monologue of curses to a low whisper, the only lullaby this baby is going to get out of him.

Amos’ stomach rumbles as he finishes up the job. He remembers that bit of bacon he had hidden so Alex wouldn’t eat it all their first week out of port. Sam is still motionless. She’d probably wake up if he turned the dishwasher on to test it. Amos sighs and steps away from the open panel, not liking to leave a job incomplete but figuring Naomi would forgive him this time. He retrieves the cookware he’ll need to make breakfast as quietly as he can from cabinets and drawers, releasing the seals that make sure each pan and bowl stay in place no matter which direction becomes “down” during the ship’s maneuvers.

The refrigeration unit is a walk-in affair meant to hold enough perishable rations for more than a dozen crewmen. Amos steps inside and squats down in back, pushing bricks of textured fungus product aside to find the package of real meat he had hidden behind them. “Real” as in they were animal proteins at least, not that this bacon had ever belonged to a whole pig that had just been walking around. Tasted great, though. And there’s just enough left for their little crew of four to enjoy.

The cold air must have been too much of an environmental shift for Sam, though. She awakens with a sudden screech, thrashing against Amos for a moment before settling down with a few more whimpers for good measure. Her eyes roam over the metal racks surrounding them. “Welcome back, little bean,” Amos says with a smile, patting her bottom soothingly as he walks back out into the galley. “We’re going to make Mommy and Daddy some breakfast.”

Amos puts the bacon in the pan and turns the burner on, then starts reconstituting powdered eggs for omelettes. He keeps thinking about how worn around the edges Naomi has been looking since Sam was born; not unhappy exactly, but tired, and something else he’s sure he couldn’t name. Maybe a special surprise for breakfast will help.

Sam is fighting the lavender bonds surrounding her now; she must be ready to break free. Amos steps back from the stovetop and unties the knot securing the wrap, plucks the squirming baby out and lets the fabric fall to the deck around his feet. “Is that better, baby girl?” he asks, holding her up and letting her stretch. He’s always surprised how long she tolerates being wrapped up so tight she can barely move. Little Sam kicks and punches at the air with spasming limbs for a few moments, then starts to whimper again. “Okay, okay,” he soothes, draping her little body over his forearm, head resting in his palm. She’s already almost too big to fit in this position, which had been his secret trick to stop her from crying during her first colicky weeks of life.

Amos walks over to the hatch separating the decks, props it open so the smell of cooking bacon can waft down to entice his sleepy crewmates. He’s just trying to figure out how to open a package of cheese product one-handed when Alex comes staggering up the ladder, hair still a sleepy mess. “Is that bacon I smell, hoss?” he asks. “I thought we were all out.”

“I may have made sure a little bit survived your unstoppable appetite,” Amos replies with a smile.

Alex puts an offended look on his face. “Hey, now, I don’t remember being the only one eatin’-”

They are interrupted by helpless, fussy noises coming from Amos’ arm. He looks down and starts bouncing on his heels reflexively.

“Here, why don’t you let ol’ Uncle Alex take her, so you can finish cooking.” Alex reaches out his hands with a warm smile.

Amos is already shifting Sam up to his shoulder. “I don’t think she was quite finished with her nap,” he declares after inspecting her face. “How about you take over the skillet, I think I can rock her back to sleep pretty quick.”

“Daddy knows best,” Alex says with a wink, patting Amos on the shoulder as he heads to the stove. “What were you working on here, omelettes?”

Amos nods, and ignores the other comment, as he settles into one of the chairs by the table, pushing against the floor to pop the front legs’ magnets off the deck and start rocking. He pats Sam’s back with a steady rhythm and in no time her body grows still. She heaves a tiny sigh and then her breaths start coming deep and steady against his chest.

Amos looks down at the tiny being in his arms. She doesn’t even look real when she’s asleep, face so slack it might be carved from wax. He stares at the miniature version of Holden’s nose, the curly hair that’s more like her mother’s. Amos had declined to be included as a third parent in the genetic mix that had created Sam; Holden and Naomi’s frozen gametes were certainly good enough. Amos had made his decision about procreating a long time ago, and he wasn’t going to be changing that. But for all he tries to fight it, he knows he’s one of the girl’s dads, all the same. That much is crystal clear as he gazes down at her. Amos feels a warmth spreading across his chest.

Did she just pee on him?


End file.
